


Love-Starved

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Manipulation, One-Sided Attraction, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Samifer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...there was more beast in Sam than vessel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love-Starved

**Author's Note:**

> **Dedicated to:** i-knew-you-were-tribble
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

This one carries a razor under his tongue, words sharp enough to cause injury and kiss hungry enough to break skin. Sam Winchester oozes out confidence, the humble charm that made the hunter’s soul incredibly bright now blackened by the empty void that has taken its place. There’s a strange form of toxicity racing through the hunter’s veins, making what should be mortal and vulnerable, otherworldly and undefeated. Lucifer knows Sam’s soul is elsewhere, perhaps still twisting and molding itself against the walls of the Cage. He could feel the dissonance between them without needing to push his fingers into Sam’s chest. He could feel how off-kilter their bond was -- how there was more beast in Sam than vessel. More unpredictability than destiny. More instinct than care that urges the hunter on. The archangel watches, in fascination, the hunter gloat. 

Sam has forsaken his clothes to reveal the time he spent in the growing absence of his brother’s company. Less fast food and greasy diners, more protein and clean diets, making muscles bulky and lines distinct in definition. Lucifer sees a vessel turning into his ideal image, the very being he envisioned and aches to slip into. It makes him heady. Sam’s accomplishment is his accomplishment. This is his. This is certainly _his. Mine mine mine mine_ rolls off his tongue like litany foreplay. The hunter brags and shows off his frame, shimming out of his underwear to reveal the dips created by his pelvis. Strong thighs. Broad chest. Sharp cheekbones. 

What an egotistical little thing, the Devil thinks curiously. He is not versed in this Sam Winchester, who grins at others pain and whose toes curl at talks of claiming thrones. This Sam isn’t as transparent as the original, where he can see and feel his vessel’s emotions and intent. This one omits and gives what he wishes: more lies than truth. 

The angel allows himself to get greedy and lets his eyes stray from their polite fixation on Sam’s face, enjoying the physical triumph his vessel is upholding. It’s only when he sees ringlets of teeth that do not belong to him does it make his jaw tighten, the only show of jealousy he will allow. Someone else has been marking him. Whether intentionally or in the “heat of the moment,” there were marks on Sam’s skin that debunked his claim on him. They laughed and mocked him in their minuscule divots on his skin. 

Not mine, _theirs_. 

Sam knows, smirk creeping on his lips and fingers tracing each pink promise ring on his flesh. This was all done on purpose and Lucifer cannot fathom, for the moment, this abashed and challenging Sam Winchester. He can’t help the line of suspicion that threads itself through Nick’s ribcage, feeling more like an animal introduced to a stranger’s outstretched hand. Is it friend or foe? In the end, it doesn’t stop him from leaning forward when Sam draws closer. 

Lucifer seeks out each pink ornament adorned on Sam’s frame. He lets his lips glide across his warm, warm skin as he stretches his mouth open. Pulling his lips back, he lets Nick’s teeth push into the marred flesh. He sinks his teeth in and closes his mouth like a slow-moving trap, bunched flesh sitting in the coolness of his maw. Sam’s hisses at the sharp pain, eventually fading into pleased sighs, as if he’s being caressed by a lover (not having teeth pull and break his skin). New marks are laid out in places where they can be visibly seen by the world. Fresh. Dark. Mine. He bites the hollow of Sam’s throat till he knows not just his teeth will show but the ugly bruise to match it. He bites his biceps. His thighs. The spot in the middle of his back bunched with muscles and flesh when Sam pushes his shoulders back. Lucifer bites the spot beneath his navel, untouched and attentive cock rubbing against his prickly jaw. 

This Sam is excited by the words written in incisors and canines. From what he gathered in his brief moments inside the hunter’s skull, he distinctly recalls Sam enjoying the process of marking his bedmates. This Sam invites the marking on his skin with a Hyde-esque grin, urging him on and laughing at him under his breath as if the punchline to an unspoken joke was nearly approaching. Lucifer was being teased at, long fingers pushing through his short hair. The not knowing of the ‘why’ or ‘what of’ left the Devil rather irritated. 

Sam tilts his hips to push the head of his cock against his jaw, swallowing the gasp at the reintroduction of the rough texture. The hunter’s fingers dig, dig and dig into his scalp, pupils overtaking the kaleidoscope of greens and browns. If he didn’t have Sam’s rapt attention before, he has it now. 

On the canvas of Sam’s body, the marks overpower the former in color, a pleasing sight for the archangel as he lets his chilled fingers glide across each one. These claims are the only thing keeping him patient and his lips from curling back in warning, Grace twisting in cautionary coils under his skin. 

“Is that it?” 

It’s not berating but there is a certain bite to the words that causes his own fingers to pause. A moment to deflate in thought. Was this is it? 

“You’re not exactly...” Lucifer stops himself, shaking his head and correcting carefully, “Completely Sam.” It would seem inappropriate to take it further. There is the debate of whether any sort of consent from this being is tangible or not. However, consent wasn’t what was restraining him. It was the fact that this was far from Sam. He would prefer the selfless creature with too big of a heart. He would rather spend actions such as these with him, first, before dabbling with this sharp-edged creature. 

The hunter snorts and shrugs his bare shoulders, an easy smile slapped on his face. “Right, saving yourself till that nice little ‘yes’ comes back,” he taunts and the angel simply stares, expression indeterminable and unblinking. “I don’t think it’s going to happen.” Silence begins to filter into the air, Lucifer drawing his fingers into his lap. 

Sam blinks at him before cocking his head to the right, squinting momentarily as if finding cues in the faint dust dancing in the air. 

“Look,” the soulless hunter sighs with a new beat, obtrusively wedging a knee between the armrest and Lucifer’s right leg as he sinks down onto him, “At this moment there are no hesitations. No weight of the world bullshit sitting on these shoulders. I am Sam, just without my moral compass that’s always pointing due ‘risk your life for the happiness of others.’ I’m Sam.” 

There’s hands finding the archangel’s face, Sam’s voice dropping to a tender murmur, “I’m still your vessel. I’m still me. I’m just...not afraid anymore. I can look you in the eye now... Not worry that I’ll combust if I touch you... I know you won’t lie to me. Hurt me. Manipulate me.” Sam wiggles so both knees are sinking into the cushiony contents of the armchair, overtaking Lucifer’s space as he sits on his lower thighs. “I know you care about me,” he continues on, gentle overtures of trust and openness. “I know you would do anything in your power to make me happy. I don’t doubt it.”

The words, despite his better judgement, do ease a tight knot that has festered in his being. They’re the words he always hoped for years ago and how bizarre it is to see fantasy be uttered in reality. It’s problematic when these words are spoken out of Sam’s mouth, difficult to maintain the wariness in his being when it’s being verbally coddled by its other half. Difficult to accept the possibility that he’s being manipulated to satisfy the hunter’s base needs. Sam Winchester is reassuring him and it’s a pleasant turn of the tables. 

“Why would I say ‘no’ to you when you’ve never said ‘no’ to me?” he asks quietly, earning a quiet smile from the Devil. 

Sam lets his thumbs rub across the archangel’s jaw, those blue eyes slowly coming to a close. Sam watches him from his perch. Eyes him through hooded lids as if Lucifer’s the only weapon in existence and he knows _just_ how to use it. He’s less a being more an it. An opportunity. A way. A tool. 

Lucifer lets a finger press the spot above Sam’s bellybutton and the brunette responds by pressing his lips against the angel’s. _Cold, rough and untended_ are the three descriptors that his own lips take in, Lucifer’s mouth unmoving. Sam doesn’t bother with kisses found in soliloquies and the back pages of high school notebooks. He takes. It takes the archangel a moment before his lips follow Sam’s ravenous lead, a ragged inhale churning with a growl rushing about in the tank of Sam’s chest. 

The edges of Sam’s fingers turn pink the more he lets his digits press and grip Lucifer’s face, skin frigid and kissing the pad of each finger with frostbite. The skin on his sides begin to match in shade when the archangel is digging his fingers into him, enthusiastically responding to the frazzling contact between nerve endings and swollen lips. Oxygen garners control in their entanglement, Sam pulling away when his lungs desperately needed to refill. 

His hands drop from Lucifer’s jaw, settling on his clothed shoulders, able to feel the iciness permeating through the fabric. He moves a finger to trace the skin above the neckline of his shirt, pushing the digit up to rub against the protruding Adam’s apple. “Come on,” he finally issues out, sliding off of Lucifer to stand on his feet, beckoning with his hand. Lucifer obeys, on his feet with coming curiosity. It’s only when Sam grabs the hem of his shirt and pushes up does the Devil understand.

Lust is beginning to outweigh the security his caution brought.

A smile draws on his lips when Sam can’t help but touch him as he goes through the motions of undressing. It’d be easy to snap his fingers and will the clothes off, but Sam runs his hands against the smoothness of his stomach up to his ribs. He feels treasured -- no, worshipped. Sam kisses the skin he can get to, as if killing time till he can move his mouth back onto Lucifer’s without being interrupted by a shirt in the process of being tugged off. When the offending shirt is off and lost in the yawning darkness the room creates, Sam’s mouth is pressed against his. It’s surging and engaging Sam’s entire body, from the stance of his frame to the way he grips the archangel’s face. It’s more than pleasing to the archangel, momentarily pushing the knowledge that this isn’t truly Sam off into the recesses of his mind. 

It takes a bit longer to get the Devil undressed with their feverish kissing bringing interruption. Lucifer can taste Sam’s impatience off his tongue and can feel it with the way he’s tugged towards the bed. 

Sam sits on the bed, maneuvering himself further onto the mattress until he can fully lay down without his feet sticking out. Fingers bend and curl, urging the blond archangel to follow after. He climbs over him, eyeing the laid out vessel with a mixture of pride and affection. Lucifer falls into the quiet temptation of tucking Sam’s hair behind his ears, intent on taking his time in enjoying the small things in the vessel he found pleasure in. He wants to comb his fingers through his hair, trace the curve of Sam’s jaw, feel his ribcage, kiss his jutting collarbone... He aches to spend just a few moments reading Sam’s skin as if it was braille (especially the author’s notes that he left with his teeth). He may never get the opportunity to do so again and it seemed wasteful not to worship in turn.

Hips rise and push up against his frame, momentarily jostling the archangel out of his thoughts. Whatever lazy moment he wished to achieve was smothered prematurely when Sam crushes his lips against his, pulling him closer to him so their bodies could collide. There’s warm fingers groping about his shoulders and the heated tempo cranks up when they glide across his shoulder blades. Budding nirvana trapped underneath the archangel’s skin, pockets of energy that grab at what humans would consider nerve endings, singing out in a chorus of bright lights. 

It’s a lost cause. He knows the minute that groan punches out of his gullet that he’s been pulled under. The angel’s body shudders, arching into the delicious sensation that is causing his own ears to ring. Phantom wings stretch, nonexistent save for the memory of what touch to his back could bring. Through the soundtrack of a single note droning on in his ears, their bodies grind and slide against the other. Sam’s making pretty exhales of bulbous bliss, bursting midway into something wet and dripping down his throat when their cocks rub _just right_ against the other. 

“Sam,” Lucifer breathes out between a sloppy kiss, finesse thrown out in light of sensory overload. The hunter makes a noise in acknowledgment, feeling the archangel move his mouth to kiss the hollow of his neck. Running a hand through his hair, Sam turns his head so half of it is lying on the mattress, watching Lucifer kiss down his neck to his chest. Icy kisses trail down his frame until his stomach is fluttering at the sheer temperature difference, shakily exhaling along with it. 

When Lucifer drags a bifurcated, pink tongue across his belly button, he swears under his breath. Blue eyes flick upwards to glance at him, smirk twisting on the blond’s lips as he moves further down. This is one of the reasons why Sam -- soulless and empty -- could not comprehend his former self. His former self was limited -- not fully evolved in his thinking in his allowance to let petty fears and guilt tether him to the ground. He couldn’t understand Sam’s dilemma with an all powerful archangel -- who would give Sam the world, if he asked -- when the opportunity to use and abuse the blond is always available. Just ripe and begging for the taking... 

Sam’s hips lift from the bed, again, when chapped lips run across the underside of his cock, toes curling when they catch under the head. Lucifer doesn’t remedy the growing ache that’s making his breath catch and introduce the familiar impossibility of breathing through his nostrils. The blond only lets his broken lips touch his skin, following the path of any thick veins to the tip of his cock, precum soon smeared across his bottom lip. The hunter nearly whines when the abused skin of Lucifer’s lips rubbed against the slit, hips digging back into the mattress as if it’s nearly too much.

“Lucifer,” Sam finally groans out, watching the way the archangel’s bottom lip dragged under and revealed the whiteness of his teeth as he lets his lips graze across the frenulum. It’s frustrating and Lucifer’s head blocks his view of the archangel’s mouth on his cock, only able to feel the coolness of his lips. Chills fill the spaces between each vertebrae, biting the edges of each raspy moan. Sam lets his body arch, pushing his cock into the archangel’s mouth till he feels the barrier of teeth. Cold fingers, instantly, dig into Sam’s hipbone till they’re pinned to the mattress. The hunter squirms, left knee rising as if he’s prepared to move from his position but stops midway. 

His leg unbends and the angel drags a finger across a visible vein dashed across Sam’s pelvis, the soulless hunter not quite sure why Lucifer stopped. “Patience is a virtue,” the archangel broke the background music of openmouthed breathing. The brunette only shifts on the bed but lets his fingers fist into the sheets in a show of an attempt. 

The blond inclines his head before he’s placing his mouth on the vein he was tracing, sucking on it till he can feel Sam’s heartbeat against his tongue. A sign of forgiveness. 

Shooting a look at Sam, his hands move so one hand can splay across his hand and the other gently grip the base of Sam’s cock. Heated flesh twitches in his hand at the temperature difference, the contact making Sam suck in the air about him violently before it’s trailing out into a ragged groan. Sam’s riddled mute when he lets his tongue swipe across the sensitive flesh, mouth opening to form syllables and vowels but nothing leaves it. Just the staccato intake of air, clenched fists pulling up at the sheets when forked tongue begins to physically map him out. There’s no spot untouched and Sam digs his heels into the mattress when that chilled mouth sucks on his scrotum, a whine issuing out of his lips. 

The brunette’s body rises, head dropped and eyes fixated on Lucifer, who is moving his frigid tongue systematically to places that are beginning to recover in heat. A drag of the tongue and kiss of those lips across his skin leaves the rest of him feeling baked in sweltering heat, nerves perceiving the temperature that did not encompass the archangel’s mouth as too hot. Sam can taste blood in his mouth from where he’s biting his tongue, suppressing the breathy sounds and groans that shake like broken sobs. Copper overwhelms his taste buds when Lucifer slips Sam into his mouth, lukewarm about his tongue and dropping in temperature about the inside of his cheeks and further back into his mouth. When Lucifer eases Sam deeper into his mouth, the hunter nearly pulls back at the frozen glaze of the archangel’s hard palette. 

The archangel pauses, remaining still and casting his eyes upward to the Winchester in a quiet question to continue. Lucifer watches Sam swallow, muscle in his jaw flexing before easing with a slow exhale. “Just...caught me off guard,” he explained in a low murmur, a reassuring sound filling the hollow of Lucifer’s throat, Sam’s toes curling at the vibrations. Nodding and letting his hand card through Lucifer’s hair, the archangel proceeds. It’s slower and the hunter is grateful for it, allowing his body to adjust to the drastic changes in temperature that reflected the archangel’s icy being. Lucifer lets Sam rub and push against his tongue to create friction, always reintroducing the hunter to the lukewarm heat of his tongue when the frozen back of his throat becomes too much.

Sam feels alight with pleasure, a warm heat sitting in his chest and neck, not needing to look into a mirror to know his skin is flushed. He aches for just a bit more. A bit faster. A bit deeper. 

Fingers scratch at the base of Lucifer’s skull, disturbing blond hair in its slow but purposeful wake. It lacks the construction to be soothing or intimate when those very fingers begin to press into him, pushing him to take Sam’s swallowed cock deeper. Fingers move, accompanied by Sam’s other hand so they could grip the archangel’s head, pushing him further and further down. The archangel’s gives a low sound in warning, displeased with the sudden show of force being used on him. The sound goes unheeded and the hunter’s engorged cock is pushing deeper into his mouth, soon nudging further into back of his throat. The vibrations makes the hunter keen, acutely focused on himself, applying more pressure onto the blond’s skull. Pulling his hips back, he lets his hips snap back until Lucifer’s nose is pressing into his pubic bone. Muscles in the archangel’s throat fluctuate and tighten, swallowing at the intrusion and it’s a wet, constricting sensation that makes him groan headily. 

Lucifer lays his hands on Sam’s thighs and pushes back, earning an irritated huff from Sam. The hunter resists at the motion, fingers sinking deeper into his scalp, as if to keep him put. It baffles Lucifer. Uncomprehending the insensitivity and selfishness until he remembered who he was dealing with. Annoyed and insulted, the archangel flicked his fingers and the pressure on Nick’s skull vanished followed by Sam’s loud protests. 

_“H-Hey!”_

Lucifer moves his head back carefully, Sam’s cock leaving his mouth with a noisy pop. Sniffing idly, the archangel taps at Sam’s protruding hip bone with his finger. “Quite the grip,” he muses out casually, Sam twisting and writhing on the bed in vain. He’s kept in place, the muscles in his arms straining briefly before giving up in rush of air. 

“What -- _oh_...shit. I’m sorry, Luce. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry,” Sam issues out, sounding rather sincere even with his struggle with the clothed restrains holding onto his wrists. It’s a rather rapid change in the tune Sam is singing, from demanding to apologetic. It’s...disappointing. He understands this isn’t truly Sam and being reminded in such a way makes it difficult to create any solid expectations. This is a Sam of just base instincts, heat, blood and pleasure. While he cares about each part of Sam, that doesn’t imply he must fully give into the whims of them all.

“I should let you lay there and leave...” the archangel sighs, shoulders rising as he sits on his haunches on the bed. 

Sam shifts in discomfort, looking more and more like a boy who stuck his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. Guilt begins to bleed into his face and there is a look that Lucifer is acquainted with: slight terror and heavy weight of the world riding on his back. Vulnerable Sam Winchester lying on his back and eating himself alive in his own faults. The archangel clicks his tongue in response, grabbing at the frayed ends of caution. 

“I’m sorry. I really am... Just...give me another chance?” 

Lucifer knows he’s being toyed with, manipulative genius pushing and nudging at his soft spots. He refuses to think too much about their previous conversation and how it may have been manufactured plastic to get Sam what he wants. “Let’s do it your way. I trust you...and I want you to trust me, too,” Sam adds, and it’s worrisome and impressive to see this wolf speak through sheep’s clothing. He knows that the younger male will spew out just what Lucifer needs to hear to make him cave in. The archangel is beginning to see that this is less about them and more about Sam’s needs being fulfilled. 

“My rules?” the blond asks inquisitively after a drawn out pause, a thought idly crossing his mind. 

The hunter perks up, nodding, “Your rules.” 

“Good. Now turn around.” 

“Do you want to take these off?” Sam jostles his wrists, the cloth wrapping about his wrists, and matching the dark hue of the sheets, a color contrast against his flesh. There’s no true distinction as to where the restraints were attached to, dipping past the bed where it’s out of sight. Lucifer has no future intent to take them off Sam. If Sam cannot use his hands correctly, than he doesn’t deserve to be using them. 

The archangel smiles and twirls his finger at Sam. “Turn, Winchester.” 

Sam begrudgingly does so, turning his head to the side so he can cast a lone eye at the sitting blond. Lucifer lets his fingers ghost across his back down to his backside, pushing his thumb in between to run the rough pad of his thumb across his entrance. Sam is torn between being pleased or disgruntled, feeling his body soon adjusted. Hands pull his hips up till his knees are pressing into the bed, backside sticking out. Protests are swallowed when the archangel kisses the flesh of his backside, icy lips leaving wet prints on each cheek until the skin begins to flush a becoming cherry red. 

Fingers run and glide across the sides and Lucifer only busies himself in kissing the vulnerable flesh. When Sam became restless, body beginning to shift, Lucifer would dip his head further down and kiss the underside of Sam’s scrotum. It keeps Sam dangerously put and still, trembling in anticipation that Lucifer will only answer by returning to his lazy kisses. 

Teeth, suddenly, bite into his backside and Sam urges him on, pressing back into the archangel until fingers are digging into his thighs to keep him still. Eager for more and seeing this as the coming motions for that very _more_.

Fingers push him open, giving the archangel the space to drag the flat of his tongue across Sam’s entrance. Tight bands of muscles instantly contract at the cold tongue, Sam swearing under his breath. The archangel repeats the action, slower this time to watch the minuscule muscles shudder. Sam’s saying too cold and stop teasing under his breath, words slurred in lust that it comes out as erotic garble. It makes the archangel’s lips twist into the hints of a smirk as he laps at the sensitive entrance.

Bifurcated tongue teases and pushes into the constricted entrance, rubbing at Sam’s thighs till he’s forcing himself to relax. The frequency of Sam’s swearing and tremors begin to show correlation with how deep he manages to wiggle the snake-esque tongue. 

Sam’s shoulders move and his fingers fist into the sheets, knuckles turning white as snow along with the bite marks on Sam’s biceps and back. They simply shinned when his muscles tensed and pushed through skin. The archangel continues to let his tongue drag across the stretched work of Sam’s entrance, beautiful shades of salmon pink to a deep valentine red. If he bites at the vulnerable flesh around the hunter’s hole, flesh would pull into frost white and later relax into a blushing red.

There’s a live wire that they’re holding together, burning and eating away at flesh. It runs up their spines and disperses into the shoulders, fizzling out when it dips down to the arms. It makes Sam’s body shiver, feeling Grace pick and prod across his skin, blindly searching for that connecting piece of the puzzle between them: Sam’s soul. It runs empty on its search, dying out around his arms, leaving him feeling electrified and swallowed at the same time. It nearly grates on the soulless hunter’s nerves at the constriction the Grace places on him for reasons he can’t quite understand nor begin to explain.

It’s all difficult to assimilate coherent thought when the Devil slips that bifurcated tongue inside. It’s a teasing tickle when he curls his tongue inside of him, feeling the edges drag across inner-sensitive muscles. Sam should be sneering, perhaps twisting himself so he’s on his back and can let the tips of his fingers scratch at the archangel’s scalp in accomplishment. He should be the one bearing the domineering crown as he’s being worshipped, yet he can’t quite grasp the edges of the claim at the moment. He can only grasp the sheets underneath him as archangel stretches him open, tongue exploring him before being introduced to cold, wet fingers. 

Sam gives a choked sound before giving an audible sniff when Lucifer applies a liberal amount of lube on his fingers. Sam twists his head, trying to eye the bottle that has been pushed into existence by the archangel. 

“What is that?” Sam finally voices.

“Apple.”

Sam snorts at the irony before it picks up into a chuckle, Lucifer following afterward. They both share their first laugh and it’s over lube.

Lucifer’s fingers simply rub across the hunter’s entrance and Sam fights off the urge to twitch when saliva and lube is slipping down, the sensation nearly ticklish. The remnants of the chuckle still sit in his mouth. Then the hunter takes a deep breath, willing his body to simply relax when he feels the pad of a finger simply nudge itself but millimeters in. 

There’s a sudden pause and a cool hand resting on the middle of his lower back. “Sam,” Lucifer’s voice cuts in, questioning and soft. 

Sam gives a nod, exhaling out a “yes” in case the gesture was missed. Sam was expecting fingers to be twisting their way inside of him or something else equally brusque. Rather, instead, the archangel takes his time in inserting a slicked fingertip. The hunter is given time to adjust, feeling the tight bands of muscles easing and dilating around Lucifer. The process is gradual and requires patience, driving the hunter to jerk his restrained wrists. He wants to slide down on the easing digit. He wants to jab the heel of his foot into the Devil’s thigh for treating him with utmost care. But the restraints keep him put and he’s bound in place, chest on the bed and backside sticking up. 

Lucifer has an infallible amount of patience that Sam is experiencing firsthand. No matter how much he whines, rocks his hips, and moan out Lucifer’s name, the entity does not budge. He continues on with his slow ministrations, fingers easing into the hunter and slowly curling inside of him. Each push and twist brushes against his prostate, making him trip and stumble over his own breathing as he grows further and further aware of every detail concerning Lucifer’s fingers. He can feel his knuckles push up against him. He can feel each rough scrape of the fingers despite how coated they may be in lube. He can feel the lines of his finger when he clenches, momentarily trapping the archangel’s fingers when his knuckles tease the rim when his hand moves. It’s driving him mad, wanting to just ride out on the budding bliss that Lucifer is creating till it surges higher.

“Killing me with kindness?” Sam pants out, feeling the sweat cling onto his neck, making the space about him feel humid. It’s the only hint he will give, while holding onto his ego, that he is terribly close to coming from this alone. 

“Do you feel as if your life is at risk?” Lucifer replies in amusement, voice steady and warm about edges of each note. The hunter makes a sound in displeasure at the reply, eagerly attempting to rock back into the archangel’s fingers. No matter how hard he tries, he’s kept put, bitting off the growing need to beg for more. Lucifer only rubs the back of his right thigh before bowing down to press a cold kiss on his back. 

“Sam, soul or no soul, you are still mine. I will not hurt you,” he adds after a moment. Sam’s expression goes missed save for the sheets under him that witness the hunter’s confused face. The soulless entity cannot understand Lucifer and whatever it is -- whether it’s a platonic form of caring, lust, neutrality or actual love -- that motivates the archangel to treat Sam as if he’s someone to be treasured and tended for. Sam finds it strange and almost silly. 

Stilling in attention when fingers slowly leave him, the hunter holds his breath until he feels Lucifer’s cool hand return to his back and the tip of his cock right against his entrance. Sam feels a scream crawling up his throat at Lucifer staying still, fingers digging into the comforter underneath him in restraint. It dies when the archangel above him lets out a chuckle, testimony to Lucifer’s acknowledgment of the Winchester’s dilemma. 

“What happened to not hurting me?” Sam bites and Lucifer’s chuckle evolves into laughter, the hand on his back soon rubbing across his warm skin. 

“I would never.”

Lucifer slides in with ease, a sound of appreciation rumbling through Sam’s chest. This was nice. Not the usual hissing and gnashing his teeth through the initial thrusts till muscles are forced into loose compliance. Just a feeling of fullness and introduction of chilled heat sliding against sensitive flesh. It leaves his body hyperaware, a guttural moan pushing its way out of his mouth when the archangel finally bottoms out.

 _Perfect fit_ runs through Sam’s skull as he feels Lucifer adjust himself, hands sliding down to his hips to hold onto. There are a few muscles twitching and spasming against Lucifer’s buried cock, adjusting to the introduction of cool flesh into the furnace of his insides. Lucifer’s thumb is rubbing at his left hipbone, waiting for Sam to adjust before he’s easing himself into an easy rock. 

Sam can’t bother to feel inclinations of frustration and self-righteous anger that he is not physically controlling the scene before him. There’s bliss burning brightly under his eyelids when he closes his eyes, churning colors of purples and pinks in the charcoal backdrop. With the archangel’s hips picking up in pace, a cracked moan leaves his mouth, the friction created leaving him incapable of forming coherent words. It rubs and curls about his being, creating heat in his stomach and cheeks. 

The hunter catches Lucifer’s left leg moving, foot now planted on the bed instead of his knee. The angle is changed by just a few degrees and when Lucifer lets his hips piston forward, wet glide of flesh resounding, does he feel the wind knocked out of him. Sam can feel Lucifer’s cock press into his prostate, body clenching and pulling a sweet sounding moan out of the archangel. Lucifer repeats the action and Sam answers in turn and it becomes a joint action and reaction, working rhythmically together until they’re panting heavily. Lucifer’s pace is beginning to stammer, hips shaking when he’s buried to the hilt in Sam. 

There’s a rough burn that begins to drags across his cock when he thrusts down into Sam. The archangel lets his pace die down to slow and shallow thrusts, earning the disgruntled sounds of the assorted trail mix of whines and groans at the change. Lucifer lets his palm run across his spinal column, nearly giving an openmouthed grin at Sam’s reaction. “Hold on,” he reassures, taking his time in easing out of Sam when his hips come to a stop. Sam’s twisting his neck so he can see why Lucifer stopped, fingers unlatching and latching back onto the sheets as if to maintain a state of activity. 

The blond turns to grab the forgotten bottle laying in silence on the bed, thumb uncapping it to squirt more than enough on to his fingers. Soothingly rubbing the Winchester’s left thigh, feeling a muscle twitch and tremble at his cool fingers, he lets his wet fingers push into Sam. The younger male lets out a throaty groan, vibrating around the walls of his gullet that Lucifer can feel the shaking aftermath ring weakly throughout the rest of his body. His fingers are thorough as they can be, reapplying the coat of apple. He lets his fingers trace across the loosen band of his entrance, Sam giving out a hoarse _please please come on just do it_ to the archangel, trying to rock back into Lucifer. It makes Lucifer’s skin feel electric, running his slicked hand over his cock with slight urgency, scent of apple hitting his nostrils. 

Fingers dig into the hunter’s backside, other hand guiding himself into Sam. He picks himself up where he left off, shifting his hips until Sam is keening once again. Sam’s suddenly shaking underneath him, sinking his teeth into the comforter as his muscles go taut. Sounds go muffled between teeth and thick fabric before the hunter’s body nearly goes slack, the archangel moving a hand to grip at Sam’s hips to keep him up. 

Dragging his fingers across Sam’s abdomen, abandoning the hunter’s hip and letting his wrist support his weight, he feels just hint of wetness about his navel. It’s only when he let his fingers drop to find Sam’s cock, more inquisitive than anything else, Sam whimpers and shies away from the archangel’s cool fingers running across his spent length. It makes the hunter’s body clench and it leaves the archangel moaning at the sudden tight heat gripping him.

The archangel can feel his orgasm surging to its peak, fighting off that instinctual urge to just let his body bend into itself in bliss, feeling his muscles tremble and shake. Fingers sink into Sam’s backside, his left leg buckling till his knee is digging into the mattress, light and heat clawing at the insides of his being. Lucifer feels warm, for but a moment. A welcoming, roasting sensation washing over him and it feels achingly good and wholesome. As quickly as it came, as quickly did it go, Grace chasing after the sensation of sun until only that arctic cold answered him back. 

Lucifer can’t be disappointed or even allow for remorse. Sam is part of the reason for that....heat. Heat so foreign and alien to him that just the thought of it makes him shudder in delight. Sam is the reason. Carefully removing himself from the hunter, it’s impossible not to kiss his sweaty back, fingers gliding across the thick cords of muscles in praise. This is his vessel. More perfect by each passing day. 

“You were perfect,” comes issuing out of his mouth, repeated and whispered, radiating admiration to his vessel. Sam hums in the praise, crooked grin pulling his lips wide, not too sure what’s going on but enjoying the attention nonetheless. It’s when Lucifer’s soothingly rubbing Sam’s calves does he recall the restraints. 

Lucifer lazily flicks his fingers as he sits back on his haunches to give the hunter space, Sam’s restraints vanishing from the hunter’s wrists. Sam lets his body collapse onto the bed, head turned to the side and panting in the warmth of the room. It’s when he acknowledges the sweaty sheets underneath him does he maneuver himself upward on the bed, kicking the sheet back with his foot. Ending up on his back, he feels Lucifer lie next to him, still radiating icy chills and praise despite it all. 

They lay their in birthing silence, Sam’s eyes closed but feeling Lucifer’s stare on him. Sam doubts the archangel knows what to do now or perhaps he’s looking for any semblance of big hearted Sam under the teethmarks and sweat. Did he want him to return the praise? The thought irritates the hunter. Of course there is the fact that he had to relinquish his control for the sake of Lucifer’s silly happiness. That grated on his nerves and he was eager to get back at the blond. 

“You already know he’s never going to come to you again,” Sam stretches, voice becoming strained when he has his arms and legs fully extended. He relaxes with a rushing sigh. “At least willingly.” Sam sneaks a glance to catch Lucifer’s expression. There’s no reason to bring this matter up but he feels eager to create internal bleeding. 

Lucifer pulls his shoulders back, bed groaning, as he pops the tensed joints. Eyes now closed and face indecipherable once more. The air feels different, however, and Sam calls it success. 

“Wow...that bad... Taking the unrequited theme very seriously in all you do and say, huh,” the hunter snorts, scratching at the underside of his chin. “You know, when you fetch his soul and shove it back in, he’s going to be aware of this,” Sam makes a circular motion over them with his hand, palm facing down. The hunter continues to prod with passive maliciousness, “He might not exactly be too pleased... Might actually be repulsed. I mean, you are you -- I am almost pretty damn sure he’s been running straight. Chasing after skirts not -- ” 

“Enough,” Lucifer cuts in, the bite Sam was expecting surprisingly missing, instead waining off into something weary and distant. It makes the hunter smirk, rather pleased with himself with his quick recovery of control. The conversation results in uncomfortable silence that drags on for minutes, the archangel unmoving until he feels as if he’s overstayed his welcome. Lucifer inhales as if he needs breath before sitting up, running a hand through his hair. Throwing his legs over the bed, he pushes himself off so he can retrieve his clothes. 

“Hey,” Sam breaks the silence, not quite done with the archangel. 

Lucifer crouches down to grab at his shirt. 

“Hey,” Sam huffs out, voice increasing in volume. This time Lucifer turns to acknowledge him, hand holding his shirt. “You know I’m being honest. Better said now than when the time actually comes. Unlike other me, I had a good time in your company and I want you to stay...at least the night,” Sam offers before adding in afterthought, “I don’t see you in that light, Lucifer. I don’t and...what happened with us... It was nice, even if I was a dick for half of it.” Sam enjoys this the most. This newfound ability of dragging the archangel down in the mud and blaming Sam’s soul. Enjoys the sheer fact that if he says enough endearing comments to the love-starved archangel that he’ll bend eventually. He’ll bend and he’ll break.

The archangel hesitates, looking like the alien creature he is with his head tilted and blinking owlishly. It takes a moment for him to sink back into his skin, pensive frown worn on the blond’s face before releasing the shirt in his hand, moving back towards the bed. Lucifer thinks he finally understands the joke from before. This is the punchline. He’s it.

“Terrible,” Lucifer calls him.

Sam shoots him a toothy grin from the bed, shamelessly acknowledging the fact as he watches Lucifer return to the bed. 

Twisting onto his side, rather perturbed at the idea of mimicking sleep and this new Sam, arms suddenly wrap around him without much forethought. Hissing in surprise, body tensing, a warm nose rubs against the back of his neck in assurance. “Shh, it’s just me. Enjoy it while it lasts,” Sam’s voice hits his left ear, feeling the hunter’s body soon pressing up against him, molding into his. It takes half an hour before the archangel can relax, easing into the mattress and the sensation of Sam Winchester attempting to find slumber next to him. This is certainly intimate... A different sort of intimacy in contrast to what they’ve done forty or so minutes ago. 

Sam’s nose is buried in his hair and there are arms keeping him secure, legs tangling through his. On a whim he lets his own hands move to hold onto Sam’s, fingers tentative before Sam is pulling them close. This is new and it feels nice when the archangel pushes aside the layer of animosity he shares with this version of Sam. He can feel Sam’s heart through his back and his hands with his frozen fingers. Wiggling deeper into Sam when his body heat sends a warm chill up his spine, he sinks into this deceiving illusion of comfort for now. 

“Goodnight, Lucifer.”

“Goodnight, Sam.”

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
